


No One But You

by unadulteratedstorycollector



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Background Relationships, Blow Jobs, Bottom Harry Potter, Community: hd_erised, Healer Draco Malfoy, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Quidditch Player Harry Potter, Rimming, Top Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-01-30 07:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12648834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unadulteratedstorycollector/pseuds/unadulteratedstorycollector
Summary: Harry and Draco are friends. More than friends. Close friends. Which might be a little annoying for... well, everyone else around them.





	No One But You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cami_soul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cami_soul/gifts).



> Cami_soul, I really hope you like this fic for your first ever Erised. I tried to get as much in as possible, and use all of your fantastic prompts! It features possibly the most detailed sex scene I've written, and I really hope it worked out well! Thanks to my wonderful betas K and J, couldn't have done it without you! Sorry for bothering you J with all the random snippets of the story, it got there eventually!

“Well look who's back. The Chosen One,” Draco drawls as he waltzes into the private room Harry is sat in. Harry pulls a face at him, before his body reminds him that he's in excessive pain and the silly face becomes a grimace. Draco rolls his eyes and waves his wand, looking over the notes that appear around Harry. “So what was it this time?”

“This time, it wasn't my fault!” Harry cries, full of indignation. Ok, so he probably could have swerved to avoid the Bludger, but then he would have lost sight of the Snitch and McLaggan would have got it. Not on his fucking watch. Draco raises an eyebrow at him and points his wand in the general direction of the cabinets on the wall.

“Harry, it is always your fault,” he snips, holding his hand out for the bottle that comes flying from the cabinet. Harry grins at him relaxing back on the examining table and lifting one arm so that Draco can get to his injury better. He doesn't miss the flicker in Draco’s eyes as Draco slices through his Quidditch robes with a clean Diffindo. He doesn't miss it, but fuck if he knows what it means. In the past he might have thought it was anger or derision. Now he knows it's something else. He just doesn't know what. “What happened?” Draco reiterates, softer this time, and dragging Harry back to his injured side.

“Hit in the side by a Bludger sent by one of the Flint siblings. Which you would have known if you had come to the game like everyone else.” Harry smirks and watches as Draco rolls his eyes again, the corner of his lip twitching.

“Why didn't you dodge it?” Draco murmurs, focusing entirely on the spells currently running through Harry, telling Draco exactly what's wrong with him. Harry sighs, relaxing back into the bed. He knows the drill. It happens often enough.

“I had the Snitch, I was literally a foot away, and McLaggan was on my heel.” Draco runs one long finger along his side and he hisses. Draco looks at him apologetically before leaning away to get a balm that Harry knows from experience is a bit like dittany for bruises. He stretches slightly to give Draco a better angle and continues.

“You know he's got that new broom endorsement from Nimbus, and I'm stuck on the Potter brooms, which I know I shouldn't complain about because I get a lot of money from them, but the new Nimbus Pro X Series is much sleeker than the Potter I'm on. Not for long, apparently Angelina has the prototype ready for the Potter Lightning Pro, but not for this game.” Draco’s fingers start working on his side, sending shivers through Harry. Draco really does have lovely hands. He coughs to bring himself back to his role in this process, wincing at the sudden stab of pain and making Draco stop for a second before continuing.

“Anyway, I saw the Bludger from the corner of my eye, but if I swerved McLaggan would have overtaken me and you know what my sight is like, I would have lost it.” Harry finishes, and Draco nods once before handing him a very small cup of something black and bubbling. “Do I have to drink this?”

“Do you want your internal organs to bleed out?” Draco asks, turning away because he knows Harry will take it. Of course he will. There isn't much Harry wouldn't do if Draco asked. Which is a sobering thought. He takes a deep breath and downs it in one, choking on the bitter taste and the sharp bubbles hitting the back of his throat. He can feel the potion rolling through him, a sort of cool fizz that makes him need to pee.

“Do I need to stay for observation?” Harry asks, his voice high with hope. He hates staying in the hospital. Draco turns and gives him a grin, one eyebrow raised.

“Normally, yes, but your Healer is willing to do a house call in the morning if you promise to call him if anything feels different.” Draco's voice is light, but Harry's been friends with him long enough to hear the warning in it. The tiny bite that Harry used to hear all the time and now only hears if Draco is worried.

“I have the best Healer,” Harry says, jumping from the table and sliding his ripped Quidditch robes off. They fall in a clump on the floor and Draco Accios them from where Harry was obviously going to leave them, folding them carefully as Harry roots through his kit bag looking for a t-shirt. 

“Have you ever thought of not getting hurt?” Draco mutters as he slowly folds the robes. Harry's stomach clenches a little, but he smiles at Draco. He knows how much Draco hates seeing him hurt. If he's honest, which Hermione tries to encourage him to be, it kills him a little bit every time Draco walks into the examination room. But he wouldn't trust any other Healer. So he has to put up with Draco’s eyes shining with worry. He stands up straight, pulling an overly large Weird Sisters t-shirt that possibly belonged to Bill over his head, and grinning madly at Draco, willing the other man to smile back.

“But then I wouldn't see you as often,” he sings. Draco rolls his eyes, but smiles back at Harry, that small, secret smile that Harry is yet to figure out what it means. He moves towards the door, dropping a friendly kiss on the top of Draco’s head and clapping him on the shoulder as he moves to leave. He waves, slinging his kit bag over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow,” he calls, ignoring the finger Draco flips his way.

*****

“Wine,” Draco calls the second he steps through Blaise’s Floo. Blaise raises an eyebrow, his chin tilted up, but stands and floats from the room. He returns a moment later with two glasses and some elf wine that Draco knows he only keeps for situations like this. He huffs, collapsing onto Blaise’s sofa, the leather butter soft under him. He holds his hand out and Blaise places a glass of wine in it before settling himself into his armchair and crossing one leg over the other. Draco takes a long sip of wine, ignoring the way Blaise’s eyes bore into him.

“So I take it Harry took our advice and went to the hospital,” Blaise says after a moment, his voice smooth and bored. Always bored. Draco grimaces. When did he get so easy to read? Hopefully Harry hasn't managed to pick up the skill, or he's in trouble. The only reason they can stay friends is because Harry doesn’t know how much Draco wants to fuck him. Not that he’s ever going to find out.

“Did you see it happen?” Draco asks, redundantly. Of course Blaise saw it. He was at the game. All their friends were. Blaise purses his lips, sneering slightly like he's annoyed at the fact that he'd had to witness it. Which, to be fair, he might be. He's not bothered about Quidditch and every time Harry gets hurt, Ginny makes a huge fuss of him. Which is often. Draco would feel jealous too if he didn't know they were like siblings.

“He ignored the fact a very hard, very strong ball was flying straight for him, got hit by it and spun around in a circle with the fucking Snitch in his hand. Because that man has more luck in his little finger than you have in your entire body.” Blaise finishes giving his completely too brief explanation and takes a sip of his wine. Draco closes his eyes and leans back on the sofa. He can just imagine it. Largely because he's seen it happen on multiple occasions. Not the exact thing, but pretty much. Those times are the worst, having to Apparate onto the field, shouting that he's Harry's Healer. Most of the time they believe him. Sometimes they don't.

“Why can't he look after himself?” he mutters, rubbing his temples with one hand. Blaise snorts and Draco turns to face him, scowling. Blaise raises an elegant eyebrow, swilling his wine around his glass like a heathen, and looks supremely bored.

“Because he's always had people looking after him,” Blaise retorts. Draco sighs, shrugging slightly because there's nothing he can say beyond that and sips his wine. Harry has always had someone to look out for him. Ron. Hermione. Even Dumbledore, to some extent. And now him, he guesses. Blaise coughs lightly and Draco looks back to him. “Does Boy Wonder know you're in love with him?” he smirks and Draco can feel the heat in his cheeks. If he can feel it, Blaise can see it. He snarls and sits up straight, staring Blaise straight in the eye in the most Malfoy way he can.

“Does Ginny Weasley know you're in love with her?” he replies and Blaise’s smirk turns into a genuine smile. Draco laughs back, holding his glass up to Blaise. Blaise returns the toast and the two of them down their wine before relaxing back into their chairs.

“Are you coming to her game this weekend?” Blaise asks with the most interest Draco has ever seen him display. That's the thing with love. It ruins a perfectly good resting bitch face. 

“Would I really miss it if I'm free?” Draco _Accio_ s the wine to him and pours himself another glass before sending it back to Blaise. Blaise nods once, not looking at the glass as he pours his wine, so used to it he can almost do it in his sleep.

“Not if Harry will be there,” he quips and Draco rolls his eyes. Blaise is ridiculous. And right. So very, very right.

*****

Ginny flies like she was born to do it. Like if she wasn't flying, she'd be miserable. She's strong and beautiful and just fucking amazing. Harry can't help but admire her. And love her. If he was straight… no, that's not true either. She's like his little sister. She streaks past them and he gives a shout, cheering her on even if he can't find the words quick enough. She pelts the Quaffle through the middle hoop, practically knocking the Keeper off their broom, and does a victory spin in the air, pumping her fist at where they're sitting.

“I don't see why you can't play on the same team,” Ron grumbles into his ear and Harry laughs, relaxing back into his chair. Next to him Luna smiles sweetly, before turning to Blaise on her right, and Harry can't help but think she might be listening to them. Harry ignores it, because it's Luna and not someone like Skeeter, and turns back to Ron.

“Because she plays for the Harpies, a woman's only team,” Harry says, not for the first time. Ron huffs, turning back to the game and Harry looks around, his mind wandering. Draco is leant forward, talking to Hermione, his shining eyes on the game even as he laughs at something Hermione says. He looks happy. Free. So different from how he was in the few years after the war. “It’s good to see Draco managed to get the day off…” he mutters without thinking about it. Ron turns to look at Draco.

“That man works too hard.” Ron shrugs, a soft smile playing on his lips. Sometimes it’s weird to think of Ron as Draco’s friend. And then they get into long discussions about Beltane over a game of chess and it makes sense. Harry glances back at Draco. He’s still laughing with Hermione, pushing her hair back with his long fingers as she holds in it an attempt to keep it off her face. He shivers a little at the memory of those fingers ghosting over his skin, gently attending to wounds that he can’t even feel anymore. Draco really is an excellent Healer. “Come on Gin!” Ron shouts, shocking Harry out of his reverie, before leaning back in his chair, long legs bent and leaning against Harry’s, “He probably shouldn’t work weekends when he works throughout the week.”

“Yeah, but I guess that’s what makes him, him.” Harry turns back to the game to see Ginny score again before turning and pointing at Ron, a grin stretched across her face, her eyes alight, her hair wild and free. Ron points back and then she’s off chasing the Quaffle again. The other team’s Beater hits the Bludger at her and Maxine O'Flaherty swoops in hitting it back before turning to give Ginny a wink and zooming off. Katie Bell grabs the Quaffle, ducking under another chaser and chucking the ball to Ginny. It looks effortless, but Harry knows how much training it takes for them to work like one person, practically breathing together.

“And you don't think he's kind of… I dunno, hot?” Ron asks after a minute, leaning forward and rubbing his hands together. It takes Harry a moment to realise Ron is talking about Draco. He frowns, turning towards his best friend, his lips twitching into a smile.

“Ron, is there something you want to tell me?” he laughs and Ron rolls his eyes.

“Shut up, you bellend. You know what I mean. Fuck off you wanker! That’s a foul!” Ron raises in his seat and Harry glances over at Draco. He is striking, the sun on his face, his hair a halo of light, his lips pink and plump, his eyes impossibly bright. And that’s ignoring the way his forearms look with his soft checked flannel shirt sleeves rolled up. His long, dexterous fingers. His pecs softly sloping as he crosses his arms over his chest. Fuck. Harry coughs and turns back to Ron as Ron flops back into his chair.

“I mean… sure. Objectively, he's hot. He's super hot. Even in his gross Healer robes he's spank bank worthy—”

“More than I need to know.”

“But it's Draco. Y’know.” Harry raises his eyebrows, silently begging Ron to understand. Not that he has much hope. Ron married Hermione. His best friend. Who he once found the most annoying person on the planet. Who arranges their condoms by type and frequency used. Something which Harry did not need to know. 

“What's wrong with Draco? I mean, sure, he can still be a twat sometimes, but mostly he's pretty decent. Fucking hilarious if you actually listen to him… Get in! Ginny you fucking legend! I swear she got that technique from George and Fred.” The pride is evident in Ron’s voice and Harry smiles softly before turning to stare at Draco once again. Draco is decent. He’s a fantastic Healer. He’s a hard worker. He’s caring and sharp. But he’s Draco. And it’s not about their history. Ancient history. It’s about their friendship now. They’re friends. Dating him would be… well.

“I don't know, Ron. I guess I just never thought of him like that.” Harry says, not taking his eyes off Draco.

“So think about it.” Ron shrugs. Think about it. Sure.

*****

“Here you go…” Draco places a few glasses on the counter next to Harry’s sink and plucks a tea towel from where it’s hung on a cabinet door. Fuck knows why Harry insists on cleaning by hand, but Draco has to admit it can be therapeutic. He takes a clean glass and starts to dry it slowly, the glass smooth and warm through the material.

“Thanks.” Harry leans across Draco, the sharp citrus smell of him washing over Draco, and picks up a glass. Draco’s chest clenches and he grips tighter on the glass. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second. Next to him Harry hums in time to the soft swish of water. Opening his eyes, Draco turns and puts the glass into a cabinet in a vague attempt to distract his heart from racing. “You know, you don’t have to do this,” Harry says from behind him, and he turns and smirks.

“Harry, I can’t remember the last time you successfully cleaned up on your own after a party. Or ever,” he drawls and Harry pulls a face, flicking water at him before handing him a dripping glass.

“Well, that’s because I have you.” Harry’s eyes shine and Draco rolls his, taking the glass and drying it slowly. He could do this with magic, but there’s something more… intimate about being in the kitchen with Harry. Something that makes him lightheaded. Something that he’s happy to ignore completely and continue doing anyway. Fuck he needs to get a life. Or get laid.

“Absolutely,” he mumbles. Harry nudges him with his shoulder, grinning madly and Draco sighs. Silence hangs between them as they work, Harry washing glasses and Draco drying them. It had been a good party. Impromptu, as all of Harry’s best parties are. And as always, Draco was the last one to leave. He’s always the last one to leave when leaving means leaving Harry. Harry coughs, and Draco raises an eyebrow at him, a smile tickling at the corner of his mouth.

“Did you ever think they’d get together?” he asks and Harry frowns, pausing for a second.

“Blaise and Ginny?”

“No, our other friends who we caught nearly fucking in your bathroom,” Draco snips, with no real venom behind his voice. Harry’s face lights up and Draco drops the tea towel on the side and leans against it, crossing his arms over his chest to stop himself from reaching out and touching Harry. Not that he hasn’t touched Harry before. But he’s been drinking shit wine all evening.

“Funny.” Harry takes the towel and dries his hands. He turns, leaning back against the side, his hand resting next to Draco’s hip. He’s too close. Draco should move away. He doesn’t. Because he’s an idiot. Harry shrugs, gazing down at their feet, “To be honest, I didn’t even know Ginny liked him. Or that he liked her.”

“So oblivious.” Draco shakes his head, smiling softly at how ridiculous Harry is.

“You knew?” Harry’s head shoots up and he stares at Draco with wide eyes and an open mouth, like Draco has betrayed him. Draco sighs, turning his body so that he’s facing Harry, their hands brushing together, Harry gazing up at him. 

“I’ll let you in on a secret, Harry,” he whispers, leaning closer, “The reason Blaise never says anything is because he can’t lie to save his life. So he just smirks and scoffs and acts aloof.”

“How very Slytherin of him.” Harry smirks, not moving away from Draco, his eyes pinning Draco in place. The room feels too hot, too stuffy, and Draco knows he shouldn’t be standing too close. There’s no point in torturing himself like this. Harry’s eyes flicker to his lips and his heart hammers in his chest. The fridge hums loudly and Draco doesn’t breathe. He can’t breathe. How can he possibly breathe when he can feel Harry’s breath tickling his chin.

“I’m going to do the rest tomorrow. You working?” Harry croaks and Draco takes a deep breath, stepping back. Harry’s shoulders slump and Draco ignores it. He gives Harry a smile and runs his hand through his hair, shrugging.

“I wouldn’t have come here tonight if I was. I’ll see you at ten.” He turns and walks through Harry’s flat, _Accio_ ing his coat as he makes his way to the front door. He could Floo, or course he could, but he really needs the air. He hears Harry come up behind, his footsteps loud against the wood floor. 

“Ooh, could you pop to the shop on the way here? I need—”

“Washing tablets and toilet paper. I noticed.” Draco turns and raises an eyebrow at Harry as he slips his coat on. Harry opens his eyes wide, pouting slightly and tilting his head to the side. He looks ridiculous and Draco forces himself not to laugh, his lip twitching at the corner. He is not going to laugh at Harry pulling a stupid face. Harry moves closer, batting his eyelashes and Draco growls, “Fine. But you owe me one.”

“I owe you more than that.” Harry stands straight again, beaming up at Draco. Draco rolls his eyes and opens the front door, the cool air rushing into the flat.

“Night, Potter,” he calls, leaving the warmth of the house and of Harry.

*****

Ron plops a pint in front of Harry, slopping beer onto the table, and folds himself into the chair next to Harry. Harry nods, taking an appreciative sip. The foam tickles his top lip and he licks at it, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He turns to Ron to find his best friend scowling. He follows Ron’s eyeline, wondering why he’d be so annoyed. And then he sees Draco, sitting and talking to Blaise and Luna, a pint of Peroni in his hand, his eyes shining and a broad smile stretching across his face. He’s beautiful. Harry’s chest tightens and he looks back at Ron, ignoring the heat creeping over his chest and up his neck.

“Draco’s wearing your hoodie…” Ron stutters, his eyes stuck on Draco and Harry nods.

“Yeah.” Draco is wearing his hoodie. His favourite hoodie, the black one with a pocket in the front that he’s pretty sure used to belong to Charlie. The material is so soft, so worn, it fits perfectly. Like a hug. It also makes Draco’s hair shine, and his shoulders broad and his chest… there’s something about seeing Draco in Harry’s clothes that’s making his brain do stupid things. Like not thinking. More than normal.

“And his hair is… fucking awful…” Ron gestures to Harry’s head, and Harry frowns at him.

“I know.” He runs a hand through his hair in a vague attempt to straighten it, knowing it does nothing. Draco’s had to actually style his as messy as Harry’s. Harry has a gift.

“And he’s drinking Peroni…” Ron’s voice is getting higher as he stares at Draco, his own beer hanging in the air near his face. Harry chuckles to himself, taking a sip of his drink. That was possibly the best bit about their bet. The jumper and the hair is… distracting. It does unusual things to Harry’s stomach. And other parts of his body. But the beer. That’s just plain hilarious, watching the way Draco’s nose crinkles slightly at every sip, the way he shudders slightly, the fact that the pint has lasted him nearly two hours.

“Yes, he is.” Harry turns to grin at Ron and Ron slams his pint down on the table, turning a very confused glare onto Harry.

“What’s going on?” he demands without any anger. Harry can’t help but grin. It probably does look weird to everyone else. People who weren’t there when Harry was laid out of an examining table having his leg set, Draco’s strong gaze making his skin tingle.

“He was complaining that I seem to be able to get laid even when I look atrocious, and I said maybe it’s because I look atrocious, and so he’s acting like me this evening to see if it works. If it does, I have to start wearing a protective body guard during matches, if it doesn’t he has to start coming to more matches.” Harry grins at Ron. Ron rolls his eyes, relaxing back in his chair and picking up his pint, happy that the world hasn’t gone completely mad. 

“And?” he prompts and Harry laughs.

“And he’s talking to Blaise and Hermione, how do you think it’s going?” he takes a long slurp from his beer and Ron laughs with him, copying the action. They sit for a moment, the pub bustling around them, watching as Draco talks to the others, still elegant and poised, despite wearing Harry’s clothes. In fact, maybe more so because he’s wearing Harry’s clothes. He makes them look good, less scruffy, less like hand-me-downs from his honorary brothers. And they make him looks more relaxed, more approachable. Maybe it will help him pull tonight. The thought of Draco shagging some random man makes Harry’s toes curl and his stomach twist. 

“You know, you don’t pull very often,” Ron muses and Harry looks at him, his cheek flushing with heat he can’t hide.

“I know.” He shrugs. That’s somewhat of an understatement. Harry never pulls. Not because people don’t flirt with him. They just all give up when they realise that just because he defeated Voldemort, and just because he’s an international Quidditch star, that doesn’t mean he’s very interesting. Or straight. And so it’s actually very rare that he does get a shag. Which is annoying, but he has his work and his hand, so he doesn’t complain about it too much. Not out loud anyway. And definitely not to anyone but Ron. Draco glances over at them, clearly aware that they’re looking at him and smirks, running his hand through his hair and making it messier.

“Sometimes it scares me, how much he’ll do for you,” Ron mutters, and Harry’s chest clenches again.

“Sometimes it scares me how much I’ll do for him.” He turns back to Ron and Ron nods knowingly, before clapping Harry on the shoulder and taking a long sip of his drink.

*****

Draco tugs at the stupidly comfortable garment he’s wearing and takes another sip of the vile, tangy drink he’s drinking. This is a stupid bet. All he wants is for Harry to be a little more careful, a little more protected. He just wants to not be on edge every time he’s at work and Harry is playing a match. He’s about to give up and go and get a glass of wine when Hermione and Blaise collapse into the chairs either side of him. Hermione leans across, catching him with a serious gaze, “We've been thinking—”

“We being…?” he interrupts and Hermione gestures between her and Blaise.

“Me and Blaise.” Blaise raises an eyebrow as Draco glances at him.

“Oh dear.” He takes a sip of his pint, scrunching his nose as the bubbles tickle his tongue. Who would willingly drink this? Blaise sips his wine, Elf made, white, crisp. Delicious.

“Don't be facetious,” Blaise drawls and Draco groans, sagging back into his chair.

“I didn't realise I was.” The chair is hard on the back of his head, digging into his skull painfully. He deserves this. He should have just fled the country like his mother wanted him to do at the end of the war. A lock of hair falls into his eye and he grits his teeth to stop himself from vanishing it completely. He has no idea how Harry deals with hair like this. It feels almost uncomfortable. And he keeps wanting to run his hand through it. Which would actually explain a lot about Harry’s habits and also his hair.

“Luna’s birthday is coming up, and she's been mentioning that new Mexican place on Diagon for a while.” Hermione interrupts his self-pity and he sits up straight. Oh. So they want to talk about Luna. That's great. That's definitely a topic of conversation he can get on board with.

“So you think we should take her there?” He asks, leaning forward and looking between the two of them. Hermione nods, her eyes focused on Draco.

“Exactly. But you know what Ron is like—”

“And Ginny,” Blaise interjects, a small smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. He really does love her. Draco's chest clenches and he turns to look back at Hermione.

“You think one of us should scout the place first?” It's a reasonable decision. And it's not like they haven't done it in the past. In fact, it was one of the first things that Draco did with Hermione, back when their friendship was tentative and he was still adjusting to not having things thrown at him in the street. Hermione had found him in the street, steadfastly ignoring the whispers and pointing, and had dragged him to a pub with Harry so that they could see if it would be suitable to take Ron and Ginny for Sunday lunch with Hermione’s parents. That was the lunch where Harry convinced Draco that he should be a Healer. He smiles at Hermione and she pulls a face.

“I would, but Ron will want to come with me…” she trails off, glancing over at Blaise and he sighs, rolling his eyes and leaning forwards, his wine glass hanging elegantly from his fingers.

“And I would, but Luna…” he gestures towards where Luna is talking to Ginny. Right. Because Luna lives with Blaise and where one goes the other follows. Images of them in the bedroom with Ginny force their way into Draco mind and he suppresses the shudder.

“I should go,” he says, because it’s the only logical place for the conversation to go. Presumably that’s why they’re talking to him, and not, say Seamus and Dean. 

“Exactly!” Hermione’s face lights up and she wraps her arm around his shoulder, dragging him into her warmth. She’s soft and round and comforting next to him. Or maybe it’s the jumper. It smells like Harry, clean and citrusy. It’s doing very unfortunate things to Draco’s heart. And other parts of his anatomy. 

“And maybe take Harry with you? If anyone knows Ron, it's Harry,” Blaise relaxes back in his chair, sipping at his wine. His delicious Elf wine. Draco groans quietly to himself and sips at his drink, before nodding to Blaise.

“Good idea. I’ll ask him—”

“Better not tell him why though. You know Harry and secrets,” Blaise interrupts and Hermione nods wisely next to him.

“Remember my birthday…” She raises her eyebrows, piercing Draco with her intense gaze. Ah. Her birthday. Draco and Ron had spent a month planning a surprise party for Hermione. They’d contacted her parents. They’d hired a Muggle and Wizarding friendly pub. Draco had even bought her a dress. And then the week before Harry had happily informed her that he’d managed to get the next day off from training so he could come to her party. 

“Right. Yes.” Draco nods, just catching the glance between Hermione and Blaise. And then their focus is on something else and Draco doesn’t have time to think about what the look could mean.

“Thanks, Draco.” Hermione gives him a kiss on the cheek and he smiles at her, glancing over his shoulder to watch as Harry laughs with Ron, his head tilted back, his hands banging on the table. His stomach swoops and his lungs clench.

“Anything for Luna.”

*****

Ron has left Harry to go and see if Ginny is willing to let him go to a Harpies training session so that he doesn’t have to go to The Burrow to teach his dad how to use a DVD player. Which is a shame. Harry would pay money to watch Ron try to teach Arthur how to use a DVD player. Hermione refuses after the great TV Incident. Arthur is yet to ask Harry, but presumably that’s because Harry’s schedule is as hectic as Ginny’s. Harry smiles to himself, leaning back in his chair and take a swig on his beer. A soft, round laugh draws his attention to where Draco is talking to Blaise and Hermione. Something stirs in Harry’s chest and he frowns to himself.

There is no way that Harry looks as good as Draco does in his jumper. It isn’t fair. And his hair doesn’t look messy. It looks like Draco’s well-fucked. It’s sexy. Harry’s hair never looks like that. And the way his adam's apple bounces every time he takes a sip of his drink, his neck smooth and creamy and begging to be licked. And then he does that adorable little thing with his nose.

This is all Ron’s fault. Think about it. Fucking hell.

“Hello Harry,” Luna sings as she slinks into the chair next to him. She has radishes hanging from her ears and a necklace made of what looks like Subbuteo men. Harry shuffles in his chair, resolutely not looking at where Draco is. 

“Hi Luna,” he mutters, gesturing vaguely at their friends dotted around the pub, “uh… I was just…” Luna looks at him, her eyes almost white in the evening light, and his skin prickles. Her lips quirk into a soft smile and she wriggles her arm through the crook of Harry’s, leaning her pointed chin against his shoulder.

“He is quite lovely.” Her voice tinkles in his ear and he thinks about asking her who, denying that he was ever staring at anyone. But Luna is still gazing up at him with that knowing glint in her eyes and he sighs, resting his head against hers.

“Draco?” he asks and she hums.

“Of course. It’s a shame he’s so sad.” She says it like it’s a fact, like there’s no argument that he is anything but deeply unhappy. Harry frowns and allows himself to look back at Draco. Draco grins at something Blaise had said, running long fingers through his hair and delicately crossing one ankle over the other. He doesn't look sad. Actually, Harry doesn't think he's seen him this happy in a while. Although, most of the time when Harry is with Draco, Draco is mending him. Draco laughs loudly, leaning across to Blaise and stroking his neck as Blaise tilts his head, pointing at something.

“He is?” Harry asks, turning to look Luna in the eye. She smiles softly up at him, her warmth running over him and making him feel sleepy.

“Hmm… the wrackspurts don’t lie.” Again, Luna talks with gravitas. And again Draco laughs loudly.

“They don’t?” Harry frowns, completely lost. Luna nods, tightening her grip on Harry’s arm and snuggling in closer. She’s so convinced, but the more Harry watches Draco laugh with their friends, the less right she seems. He’s about to tell her so when Hermione slides into the chair onto the other side of Harry, frowning at them slightly as she turns to see where they’re looking.

“What are you two talking about?” she asks and Harry sighs, his stomach tightening. It’s not that he doesn’t love his friends. He really does. But what with Luna’s flightiness and Hermione’s edge he’s never sure where he stands when they’re together. Best to let them just steer the conversation and hope he gets out of it unscathed. Hermione turns her gaze onto him and he pulls a face.

“Apparently Draco is sad.” He gestures with his head and Hermione pauses for a second before looking back at Draco. Any minute now she’ll tell Luna that she’s being ridiculous and they can talk about literally anything else. Anything that doesn’t make Harry’s body do weird things that it’s never done before when looking at Draco. Like get prickly and hot. Draco runs his thumb along his lips, wetting it slightly and something tightens in Harry’s throat. He coughs, leaning forward to grab his pint and dislodging Luna’s head from his shoulder. Her hand stays rested against his arm as he takes a gulp, ignoring the way his clothes suddenly feel too tight.

“Hmm, I thought that,” Hermione states and Harry chokes on his beer.

“You did?” He raises an eyebrow at her. There is no way Hermione can look at Draco, laughing, happy, radiant Draco, and think he’s sad.

“Yeah.” Hermione nods, turning to smile sadly at Harry, her hand plumping her hair up. He’s missing something. He’s sure of it.

“Did you know barn owls mate for life?” Luna says and he turns to her, his head spinning.

“Uh… no Luna, I didn’t.”

“I mean, he has a great job and he’s well liked, but there’s more to life than that,” Hermione muses. Which is true. But Draco has more than that. He’s got… um… 

“Dragons mate for life too.” Luna’s voice floats in, adding to the fuzz in his brain and he looks between the two of them, not sure what conversation he’s wandered into, and not entirely sure how many conversations are happening, and definitely not sure which one he is supposed to be answering.

“Uh…” 

“Think about it. The only time he goes out is to come to the pub, or watch you play Quidditch. And that’s mostly because he knows he has to be on hand as your Healer.” Hermione raises her eyebrows at Harry and his cheeks flood with heat. Is that true? It that the only reason Draco comes to his games? Because he has to look after Harry? No, that’s can’t be right. Draco comes to the games because he wants to. Because he likes Quidditch. Because he’s Harry’s friend.

“It would be nice for Draco to have someone to spend time with,” Luna says, tilting her head to the side, sounding wistful. Harry’s heart hammers for a second and he takes a deep breath. That would be nice. For him. Draco. To be with someone. Or not. Fuck.

“It would be nice for Draco to go somewhere that’s not here. To relax.” Hermione finishes, the two women looking at him expectantly. He is so fucking lost.

“Yeah… I guess.” He glances at Draco, just catching him rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “He works too hard.” Silence falls over him and the two women bracketing him share another look that he can’t decipher. Something seems to pass between them and Luna stands.

“Oh look. Seamus.” And then, as suddenly as she appeared, she’s gone.

“She hasn’t changed,” he muses turning to grin at Hermione until he catches the look she’s giving him. Her eyes are sharp and her lips are quirked at the corners. She’s thinking something, which is dangerous, and he can’t figure out what. Probably something to do with him. She always has that look on her face when she thinks he should be doing something that he isn’t doing. He opens his mouth to ask her to spit out whatever thought she’s rolling around in her head when a familiar cough startles him. He turns to see Draco standing next to him, looking awkward and rumpled and fucking gorgeous. 

“Hey Harry, what are you doing tomorrow night?” Draco asks, running his fingers through his hair again. Harry frowns, glancing at where Hermione is looking at him with wide eyes and a raised eyebrow. Harry turns back to Draco, his chest tight and his heart pounding.

“Oh… nothing.” He shrugs, unable to stop himself from smiling. Draco grins at him, and Harry’s breath catches.

“Would you like to go to that new Mexican on Diagon with me? Say, seven?” Draco asks. Harry’s brain whirs. Draco is asking him out for dinner, which is weird, but Hermione had been saying that Draco should get out more, and Harry does want to try the new Mexican. It’ll be good for Draco to do something. He really does work too hard.

“Sure.” Harry shrugs and Draco nods, his face radiant, and Harry’s stomach flips.

“Lovely. See you there.”

*****

If Draco could pinpoint exactly where his evening started going to hell it would be when Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived in ratty jeans and threadbare jogging bottoms and hand-me-down t-shirts, turned up wearing a suit and Draco had to remind himself it was a completely platonic evening to assess the suitability of the restaurant.

It hadn't got better.

He'd ordered beer, because it’s what Ron would drink, and Harry had ordered expensive elf wine, because he was apologising for making Draco drink beer. He'd ordered three starters, because that's what Ron would do, and Harry had let him have the first taste of all three, because apparently Harry wouldn't be able to stop himself. He’d talked openly, because it was the only way to be with Harry, and Harry had casually touched him all evening, because it was the only way Harry could be.

Harry had picked up the bill, and as they left the maître d' had given them a sly smile and told them to enjoy the rest of their evening, like they weren't going to two completely separate flats.

It all felt very—

“This is fun, we should go out more often…” Harry mutters, shocking Draco from his thoughts. He looks down at Harry through his eyelashes and smiles softly, amusement tickling at his chest.

“We go out all the time,” he points out. And they do. They’re always at a Quidditch match, or at the pub, or even occasionally at one of their flats. In fact, if Draco isn’t at work, which he is the majority of the time, then he’s being dragged out by one of his friends. Harry shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets and looks down at the floor, kicking a stone. He’s adorable and gorgeous and Draco is having a hard time not grabbing the front of his suit jacket and pressing him into a wall.

“Not just the two of us,” Harry counters and Draco stops, his mind racing. Just the two of them. Going out. Alone. Harry turns, seemingly realising that Draco has stopped and walks back to him, frowning slightly in confusion. Draco raises an eyebrow, and leans forward slightly.

“You think we should go out just the two of us more often?” he asks, slowly. Out more often. Just the two of them. To nice places, where Harry wears nice clothes and they talk and have fun and the maître d' implies things.

“Sure… why wouldn’t we?” Harry shrugs, grinning up at Draco, his face boyish and sweet in the evening light. It hasn’t hit him yet. Although, to be fair to Harry, it hadn’t hit Draco until very recently. Draco takes a tiny step forward, into Harry’s heat, citrus rolling over him and he tilts his head to the side.

“It doesn’t seem a little like dating to you? If we do this more than once?” He keeps his voice soft, needing to let Harry get there on his own. Harry pulls a face at him, shaking his head.

“No! That’s… I mean…” he scoffs and Draco stares at him. He’ll get there, but it would be really great if he got there faster. Harry’s eyes flicker over his face as he visibly thinks. Draco puts his hands in his pockets, watching, his heart hammering. And then Harry’s eyes get wide, his mouth dropping open and he madly gestures between them, “Draco, is this a date?”

“I'm starting to think it might be…” Draco laughs grimly, shaking his head. A meal just the two of them, what was he thinking? There were loads of people who could have gone to the restaurant. They probably could have gone as a group. And there’s no way Blaise would have trusted anyone but him to plan Luna’s birthday party. He shakes his head, grumbling “fucking Blaise and Hermione.”

“Hermione talked to you?” Harry’s eyes open impossibly wider and Draco huffs. Right. Confirmed.

“Yes,” he answers with a grumble, “She said I should ask you to dinner.” Harry starts, stepping closer so that Draco has to tilt his head down to look Harry in the eye.

“She told me I should take you to somewhere new because you were sad!” Harry’s voice is high with indignation and Draco’s chest tightens as he frowns.

“You thought I was sad?” He wasn’t sad. Sexually frustrated, maybe, but not sad. Harry shrugs, looking vaguely embarrassed. His cheeks are turning a pleasing shade of pink and Draco forgets that he’s annoyed.

“I mean, Hermione said you were,” Harry mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, “and she’s always right. Or lying, apparently.”

“How was that woman not in Slytherin?” Draco chuckles, shaking his head. Harry laughs, the soft rumble running through Draco, straight to his cock. The air thickens around them as their laughter dies, their eyes locking onto each other. Draco holds his breath as Harry shuffles on the spot, strong hands running through his wild, raven hair.

“So, this was a date?” Harry’s voice is deep, deeper than usual and Draco releases his breath.

“It would seem.”

“You know, usually my dates end with at least a kiss.” Harry bites his lip, looking up at Draco through his lashes and Draco’s heart stops. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything as erotic as Harry looking at him, his eyes dark with lust, his white teeth pressing into the soft, lump flesh of his lip, red and glistening. Fuck.

“Do they?” He breathes and Harry nods once, his eyes piercing into Draco.

“Mmm…”

“Well then,” Draco husks, stepping closer to Harry, unable to stop the grin that he wishes was a suave smirk stretching across his face. Harry smiles back, his eyes dark and his pink tongue darting out to lick along his bottom lip. Draco’s heart pounds as he brings his hands up, for once not having to stop himself, and runs them through Harry’s hair. Tilting Harry’s head gently back, he bends down, his nose gently brushing against Harry’s. Harry’s hands find Draco’s waist, pulling them closer. Citrus and heat and magic flow over Draco, Harry’s breath tickling at his lips and he sighs, closing his eyes as he presses forwards.

Harry’s lips are soft and insistent as they move against Draco’s. They open together, their tongues twisting together and Draco can’t breathe. Harry tastes clean, sharp, deep, and Draco knows he will never want anyone else ever again. He feels dizzy, his body heavy and weightless at the same time, numb as pleasure shoots through him. Harry moans into his mouth and he realised he has a very hard cock pressing against his own, incredibly hard cock. He tugs lightly at Harry’s hair, his thick, silken hair, and Harry moans again, his hips rolling against Draco’s. Draco returns the thrust with one of his own, dirty and inappropriate in the street. Fuck it. He’s kissing Harry fucking Potter. He can be inappropriate.

Harry pulls back, panting, his hands still clutching to Draco’s jacket. Opening his eyes, he gazed down at Harry, his heart aching. Harry’s eyes are blown, and his smile is radiant as he rubs his nose against Draco’s.

“Oh yeah, this is a fucking date.” Draco feels Harry whisper and he laughs, cracked and deep, before bending and taking Harry’s lips, not ready to let them go.

*****

Harry Apparates them straight into his bedroom because his cock is aching and because Draco is grinding against him infuriatingly. They land with a bump, Harry stumbling slightly, and Draco wraps his hands around Harry’s forearm gently, holding him in place. He pulls back and Harry watches in awe as Draco looks around before humming happily and bending to press his lips against Harry’s again.

He arches into Draco, the hard planes of Draco’s chest pressing against his, heat searing through his shirt. Hermione had insisted he wear a suit, that it would be nice if he did. Why the fuck is she always right? Draco’s hands slip under his suit jacket, his fingertips gently grazing against Harry, and Harry stops thinking about Hermione. He stops thinking about anything that isn’t the man in front of him. Draco tugs at his suit jacket and he shucks it, letting it drop to the floor as Draco wraps his arms around Harry, holding him tighter.

Running his hands through Draco’s hair, Harry presses forward, searching for friction as his cock aches and his head swims. How did he miss how hot Draco was? How did he laugh and joke and have Draco stroke his side without thinking that they could have this? How much time has he wasted? Draco’s tongue strokes against his, deft fingers undoing buttons and Harry groans, tugging Draco’s suit jacket off and letting it join his on the floor. Draco smiles into his mouth, the soft huff of a chuckles tickling at Harry’s lips and Harry can’t help but laugh back.

They move slowly, toeing off shoes, peeling off socks, their mouths pressed together as they laugh and kiss. Draco’s knuckles brush against Harry’s nipple as he peels Harry’s shirt off and Harry’s breath hitches, pleasure rushing through him. He feels the smirks against his lips and then Draco’s head is bending further, his lips leaving Harry’s, travelling down Harry’s neck as they stumble back towards the bed. Harry moves his hands, fingers numb and body heavy, running his fingers through Draco’s hair as Draco sucks on his neck. He’d never thought of his neck as sensitive before, but then Draco’s tongue runs up it and his cock presses painfully against his trousers. Maybe it’s not his neck. Maybe it’s Draco.

Letting go of Draco’s hair, he moves to undo the buttons of Draco’s shirt. There are too many clothes and he wants Draco too much, but he needs to take his time. He wants to remember this. To remember every moment of it. The feel of Draco’s hair tickling his chin as Draco mouths at his collar bone. Draco’s slender fingers, talented and sure, undoing Harry’s trousers and sliding them down Harry’s legs. Draco’s skin, smooth and hot as Harry pulls his shirt off. Their clothes littering the floor, looking beautifully natural. Draco’s clothes should always be on Harry’s floor.

The back of his legs bump into his bed and he falls backwards, leaving Draco standing in front of him, smiling down at Harry with a lazy smile, his eyes dark and lust-blown. His hair is mussed, his skin alabaster in the street light peeking through the curtains, his muscles lightly defined. He’s fucking gorgeous. Harry props himself up, reaching out with one hand and running his fingertips along the tantalising ‘v’ that disappears under his boxer briefs. Draco’s chest heaves slightly as he watches Harry, and Harry’s skin tingles with the intensity of Draco’s gaze. Sitting up, he hooks his finger in the waistband of Draco’s underwear, and keeping his eyes on Draco’s, slowly tugs them down.

Draco’s cock springs free, bobbing softly, curved gently towards his stomach. The head glistens with pre-come, flushed red, the foreskin stretched gently around it. Harry’s mouth waters, his cock twitching in his own pants, and he bends forwards. His neck aches at the odd angle, but he doesn’t care. He strokes up Draco’s legs, coarse golden hairs tickling at his fingertips. Draco watches him, his lips partly open, a soft blush in his cheeks. Harry can see his chest rise and fall as he pants and Harry can’t help but smile. He moves his hands higher, his eyes trapping Draco’s, his heart racing. Draco’s muscles ripple under his fingers and Harry’s head swims. His fingers move higher, feeling the slight dip where his leg meets his hip, the skin suddenly smooth. Draco’s hands thread through his hair, pulling slightly, his fingernails scratching lightly against Harry’s scalp and Harry can’t hold back the moan as he leans his head into the touch.

“You know, as nice as this feels, my cock is getting very cold just hanging out like this,” Draco growls, his voice cracked and fucking sexy, before giving his hips a little wiggle, his cock wobbling comically. Harry rolls his eyes before grinning up at Draco and sliding his hand to wrap around the base of Draco’s cock. Draco’s chokes, his hands tightening in Harry’s hair. Taking a deep breath to ground himself, Harry starts to stroke, watching as Draco’s foreskin bunches and then reveals as he moves his hand. It’s smooth and hot and Harry can almost taste it. He wants to taste it. But first he wants to stare at it. Because it’s beautiful, and because with each small twist of his wrist Draco’s grip is getting tighter and his breathing is getting quicker. And there isn’t a single second that he wants to forget about this night.

“We should have done this a long time ago,” he mutters, leaning forward so that he can feel his breath on his hand, can smell the musty sex smell of Draco’s cock, “I was a fucking idiot.”

“Past tense?” Draco croaks, his hips jerking forward to thrust his cock in Harry’s hand. Harry huffs a laugh, his eyes stuck on the glistening head of Draco’s cock. His tongue darts out from his mouth, wetting his lips as he leans forward, the soft, warm head of Draco’s cock brushing against them and making his own cock ache. And his chest. And maybe his lungs? His stomach? His heart? Something inside. He’s about to suck Draco Malfoy’s cock. The most perfect, wonderful cock he has ever seen, attached to the most gorgeous, frustrating, sarcastic shit he has ever fancied. His head buzzes and he breathes, sticking his tongue out and swiping slowly along the slit of Draco’s cock. Sweetness bursts on his tongue, of course Draco’s fucking sweet, and Draco groans above him. He smirks to himself, opening his mouth and sucking the head of Draco’s cock into his mouth in one fluid motion.

Swirling his tongue slowly around the head, Harry keeps moving his hand, pumping in steady, fluid strokes as Draco writhes, his hands running over Harry’s head, shoulders, neck. Draco’s cock is smooth and heavy on Harry’s tongue, and Harry moans around it, slipping his tongue gently under the foreskin before licking back along the slit. He brings a hand up to rest on Draco’s hip as Draco starts to try to thrust into Harry’s mouth. No. This needs to go slowly. Harry needs this. Humming, he sucks more of Draco’s cock into his mouth, letting the head scrape softly against his palate. His hand knocks against his nose and he twists it, letting it touch his lips as he bobs his head, running his tongue along the thick vein on the underside of Draco’s cock.

Draco’s hands rest back in Harry’s hair, and soft moans fill the room, covering the slick smack of Harry’s mouth on Draco’s cock. It’s fucking perfect. Harry groans, his whole body thrumming with energy and magic, and his cock painful in his pants. He wants to touch himself, but he knows the second he does he’ll be coming. And there’s more he wants to do. So much more. He releases Draco’s cock, moving his hand over the soft skin of his hip and around. Draco’s arse is phenomenal. There is no denying that. Draco’s arse has always been a thing of beauty, pressed into perfectly cut trousers. But now it’s here. Naked. And Harry can fucking touch it and squeeze it and, maybe later when his mouth wasn’t otherwise engaged, bite it a little. He skates his fingers over it and Draco’s hip judder forward, his cock pressing deeper into Harry’s mouth and Harry swallows. Draco gasps above him and he tries to smirk around the cock in his mouth. He sinks lower, hair tickling at his nose, relaxing his mouth, sucking lightly, breathing steadily through his nose.

He moves his hand, massaging Draco’s cheek, his fingers slowly moving closer to Draco’s hole. He looks up to see Draco’s eyes closed in bliss, his bottom lips trapped between his teeth. He’s stunning. And Harry is making him look like that. He sucks, pulling off quickly to mutter a spell under his breath, before sliding back onto Draco’s cock. It tastes clean, warm and solid and he needs it. Everywhere. In his mouth, in his hand, in his arse. He sighs as Draco’s fingers tighten, bobbing his head and his newly slickened fingers brush along Draco’s arse crack. He feels, rather than hears, Draco’s breath hitch as his finger ghosts Draco’s hole, the furled skin fluttering.

“Fuck, Harry, yes…” Draco growls, his hands gently moving Harry’s head as Harry moves his tongue in fluid circle, sucking lightly and humming when Draco’s cock touches the back of his throat. He presses his finger lightly against Draco’s hole, feels the heat of the muscle as it contracts and relaxes against his finger, stroking around the rim. Draco groans and thrusts, his hands tight in Harry’s hair. Keeping his focus on breathing through Draco’s erratic thrusts, Harry pushes his finger harder, letting it pop past the ring of muscles. It slides into Draco, the heat tight around his finger. His moves his finger in time with Draco’s thrusts, twisting and curling it until he presses against something firm against his finger and Draco shouts out. He slides another finger to join the first, curving them together as he moves in earnest. Together they build a rhythm, Draco pumping into Harry’s mouth, before thrusting back into Harry’s fingers, cries and sobs of pleasure echoing in the room. Harry’s head swims as he focuses on the feeling of Draco in his mouth and around his fingers, of the sound of slick hands and cocks, of the heady rich smell of sex.

“Harry, we need to stop… I’m going to… I don’t want to… I need…” Draco gasps, tugging Harry off his cock. Grinning, Harry slides his fingers from Draco’s hole, resting both hands on Draco’s hip. Draco’s fingers fiddle with the curl of hair behind Harry’s ear, his eyes glazed and flickering over Harry’s face. He looks gorgeous, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his lip red and swollen from where he’s been biting it. Harry’s mouth dries up, his fingers numb as Draco gently presses his forearms against Harry’s shoulders, lowering him onto the bed. Harry’s legs dangle off the end, his toes tickling at the floor, and Draco steps forward between them. Heart racing, Harry bunches the duvet in his hands, anticipation coiling in his stomach as Draco lowers himself onto his knees in front of Harry, those magic fucking hands stroking up Harry’s legs, sending shivers through him.

Draco grins at him, a wicked, excited grin and Harry watches with a racing heart. Draco traces along his leg with one finger, his eyes swirling and dark as he follows his finger. Harry’s cock throbs where it’s pressed against his boxer briefs, a growing wet patch from pre-come leaking onto them. Draco bends and Harry’s heart jumps, but Draco smirks at him, pressing soft kisses to the inside of Harry’s thigh. They’re small and gentle, and they shoot pleasure to Harry’s core. Fuck. This… soft and sweet and so fucking tender. It’s more than Harry could have ever hoped for. It’s.. fuck, did he ever not want this?

Draco’s fingers hook in his pants and he stops thinking completely as Draco tugs them down, his cock springing free. He wants to touch it, his fingers itching and his skin on fire with need, and he clutches tighter on the duvet. Hot breath tickles against his leg, his hip, his cock and he mewls, an embarrassingly high sound that vibrates from the back of his throat. He can feel Draco smile, firm hands massaging Harry’s thighs, gradually moving higher and higher until Draco’s fingers are grazing against Harry’s arse cheeks.

“Draco, please!” Harry whines, not entirely sure what he’s asking for and Draco chuckles before bending to swipe his tongue along Harry’s cock. He sucks lightly on the head and Harry’s eyes clench shut, his body shaking. His toes curl, his body slick with sweat, his muscles clenching and flexing as Draco rolls his tongue around Harry’s head. Cool air flows over Harry’s cock, making him jump, as Draco moves his mouth lower, delicately taking Harry’s balls in his mouth and sucking. Jesus the man has a magic mouth. Magic mouth and magic fingers. Draco’s hands trail back down his legs as his tongue rolls around Harry’s balls, tickling at his taint, lapping at the seam of his groin. Long fingers wrap around Harry’s feet before Draco raises them, resting them on Draco’s shoulders, exposing his hole to the air. Harry’s hips jerk forward without control and Draco’s hands instantly move to support his arse, to keep him in place. 

Harry knows it’s coming before it does, Draco’s tongue pressing insistently against his hole a second later. Harry writhes, unable to control his body, unable to think, unable to stop the whines and moans escaping from his lips. Draco’s tongue moves, tickling at his rim, pressing in, spit dripping down Harry’s crack. It’s amazing, phenomenal. And Harry needs more. He tries to move, to press against Draco, but Draco’s hands keep him there, trapped. He cries out, begging in a voice that he doesn’t recognise as his own and Draco smiles against him before a slick finger is pushed into Harry in one movement.

“Fuck, Harry, you should see how gorgeous you are,” Draco growls, his finger moving into Harry before a second is added, “do you know how often I’ve thought of this. How long I’ve wanted this.” Harry wants to answer him, wants to tell him that he should have seen, that he’d wanted it to, really, deep down, to tell him that they have the rest of their lives to catch up. Instead he groans, his feet digging into Draco’s shoulders, as Draco scissors his fingers. It’s not enough, he needs more. He needs Draco in him.

“I’m ready, please, Draco, I need you,” Harry calls. He needs Draco. In him. Around him. With him. Draco pulls out and stands, taking Harry’s feet with him, before muttering a protection spell and lining his cock up. The dull head presses against Harry’s entrance and Harry feels weak with desire. He brings his hand up, grasping and searching, until elegant, slender fingers link with his. He squeezes his hand, squeezes Draco’s, and Draco’s cock slips into him, stretching him with a sweet, tender burn. Draco’s cock continues to slide, to move into Harry, to fill him and Harry can’t breathe. It’s too much. Too perfect.

“I know,” Draco replies and Harry starts. Right. Speaking out loud. He nods, staring at Draco, at the way his body shines with sweat, a coil of possessiveness rolling in his stomach. No one else should get to see Draco like this, his hair a mess, stuck to his forehead with the wetness there, his eyes dark with lust. This is Harry’s. He rocks his hips, his thighs aching, forcing Draco to bottom out in him. Draco’s grip tightens, his eyes shut as he breathes and Harry knows that feeling too. So close he needs to stop. To breathe. To give himself a moment.

And then the moment is over, and a new one starts. Draco looks down at Harry, his eyes boring into him, and starts to move. Each thrust spikes in Harry, pushing him closer, his muscles tightening, Draco’s eyes trapping him. The world around him slows, narrows to Draco. Draco’s cock. Draco’s smell. Draco’s eyes. Draco’s fucking magic hands. The roll of Draco’s hips taking him impossibly closer, bringing them impossibly closer. There’s no one else in the world. No one Harry trusts more.

Draco’s thrusts start to become erratic and Harry knows he’s getting close. He lifts a hand, wrapping it around his cock, finally, and pumping quickly. His hand is too thick, too calloused from Quidditch and he frowns. A second, a moment, a breath later and Draco’s hand is sliding under Harry’s, taking it’s place. Draco wanks him quickly, messily, his hand a blur as he pounds into Harry. Harry’s hips ache and his back is stiff and it’s fucking perfect.

Draco comes first, thick and hot and tickling at Harry’s passage, shouting Harry’s name like it’s the only thing he’s thinking of. Maybe it is. His body shudders, he bends over, his hands tightening around Harry’s cock and in Harry’s hand. His eyes clench, a small line forming between his eyebrows, beautiful and completely out of control. His legs twitch, relaxing with a wave as Draco drops them, his cock sliding from Harry’s hole. Harry breathes, his cock still painfully hard, Draco’s hand wrapped around it. His hole is tender and sensitive as Draco slips his fingers in, the filthy squelch of come and lube making Harry’s stomach twist. It shouldn’t be sexy but it fucking is.

Harry chokes back a shout as Draco wraps his lips around Harry’s cock, taking it all in until Harry can feel it bumping the back of Draco’s throat. Draco’s fingers move in Harry, his tongue swirling around Harry’s cock, the suction like a magnet, drawing Harry nearer to the edge, and Harry can’t see, can’t think. There’s nothing but the pleasure building and the man giving it to him. He comes with a groan, spilling down Draco’s throat. He doesn’t breathe. He can’t. He doesn’t need to.

The air is still around them as Draco sits up, leaving Harry, and Harry feels the panic rise in his chest. And then Draco smiles at him, and it’s warm and sensual and loving, and Harry can’t help but smile back. He smiles back because he knows it’s what Draco would want and there is nothing Harry wouldn’t do for Draco. It’s a warming thought. Draco moves around the bed, his movements slow, his cock hanging soft and heavy between his legs and slides into it. He raises his eyebrow at Harry and Harry laughs, moving up to sit next to Draco.

“I guess you think this means I’ll start wearing protective gear when I’m playing?” Harry asks, his voice lighter than he feels. Draco’s eyes flicker over his face and he holds his breath, his heart pounding in his ears. Draco must know, Draco always knows, he isn’t really asking. Not about protective gear, he’ll never wear more protective gear. He’s asking about something more. They watch each other for a long moment before Draco’s eyes soften, his lips twitching into a smile.

“Only if I start coming to more games,” Draco whispers. And Harry nods, wrapping his arm around Draco’s shoulder, sliding down into the bed and taking his future with him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment here or on [livejournal](https://hd-erised.livejournal.com/91004.html). ♥
> 
> This story is part of an on-going anonymous fest hosted at hd_erised@livejournal.com. The author will be revealed January 8th.


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